“The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.” – Bob Harris, Lost in Translation
When my grandmother passed away I don’t even think I shed a tear. I knew it was coming, but I’m pretty sure we all did. And it’s not like I didn’t care about my Grandma. She was always cool. We played games. I spent summer weeks there. Maybe it was the distance? But even when I went to her funeral, I felt unmoved (though the service come faith propaganda surely didn’t help). While other’s cried, I remained rather emotionless. I’m still not sure whether I should feel guilty for this or not.
This, naturally, begs the question about whether I’ve become cold or not. I’d like to think that I haven’t. There are still moments in storytelling that draws the occasional tear from me. There are other times in recent history where I Niagara Falls temporarily relocated to my tear ducts. So really, what is it? Have I just
become numb come to terms to the idea of deaths and people dying? I’ve buried my brother-in-law, my mother-in-law, my uncle, and now my grandmother in roughly a decade and not once did I get upset about it. I dunno. Questioning it here hasn’t really brought any clarity to me.